It has been from the Foreign Legion that desertions are frequent. Taking their leave overnight, the deserters, generally three or four together, make their way straight into the Arab country, usually to the north, with a view to reaching Rabat. In almost every case the deserters are Germans, and the Moors permit them to pass, for they understand that German _Nasrani_ and French _Nasrani_ hate each other as cordially as do Arab Moslems and Berber Moslems. Nevertheless, even though the deserters are Germans, it is asking too much of the Moor to spare them their packs as well as their lives. I have seen one man come into Rabat dressed only in a shirt, another, followed by many Arab boys, wearing a loin-cloth and a helmet. The French consul at Rabat makes no effort to apprehend these men; but they are usually taken into custody by the German consul and sent back to their own country in German ships, to serve unexpired terms in the army they deserted in the first place. CHAPTER VIII TANGIER To see Morocco from another side--for we had looked upon the country so far only from behind French guns--we started up the coast on a little ‘Scorpion’ steamer, billed to stop at Rabat. But this unfriendly city is not to be approached every day in the year, even by so small a craft as ours, with its captain from Gibraltar knowing all the Moorish ports. A heavy sea, threatening to roll on against the shores for many days, decided the skipper to postpone his stop and to push on north to Tangier; and we, though sleeping on the open deck, agreed to the change of destination, for we had seen all too little of ‘the Eye of Morocco.’ Tangier is a city outside, so to speak, of this mediæval country. It seems like a show place left for the tourist, always persistent though satisfied with a glimpse. Men from within the country come out to this fair to trade, and others, while following still their ancient dress and customs, are content to reside here; yet it is no longer, they will tell you, truly Morocco. There is no _mella_ where the Jews must keep themselves; Spaniards and outcasts from other Mediterranean countries have come to stay here permanently and may quarter where they please, and there is a great hotel by the water, with little houses in front where Christians, men and women, go to take off their strange headgear and some of their clothes, then to rush into the waves. Truly Tangier is defiled. Franciscan monks clang noisy bells, drowning the voice of the _muezzin_ on the Grand Mosque; the hated telegraph runs into the city from under the sea; an infidel--a Frenchman, of them all--sits the day long in the custom-house and takes one-half the money; and no true Moslem may say anything to all of this. [Illustration: ON THE CITADEL. TANGIER.]